Tennis, Anyone?
My family and I spent Spring Break in Houston this year. OK, not exactly Hawaii, but my Mom lives there and we rarely get back to see her. With ministry, the kids being in school and sports we just don't get down Houston often. It's much easier for her to come see us which she is happy to do.
We cristened the new waterpark, Schlitterbahn, in Galveston and ate out at all of the hometown restaurants of my youth.
My brother, Ted and his wife, Kelly, joined us and brought the 4 kids. Attempting to be the cool aunt, (note: never a good idea,) I took my kids and two nephews up to the park along with half of the Walmart Sporting Goods section. We rode skateboards, lugged tennis raquets and Jack even brought his baseball gear. It looked like The Grapes of Wrath and we were only going to stay 45 minutes.
We get to the park and my scooter-riders rode around the paved sidewalk while Aunt Jinny forged a more direct route to the tennis courts.
Just an autobiographical note; I am no tennis player. My memories of tennis include watching my brothers and parents play while I looked on with my powder-blue Wilson raquet & cover (tre 70's.)
I did unfurl the raquet once and wound up in tears because my foolish father refused to hit the ball precisely to me. He didn't get this sport at all.
What possesed me to pick up the raquet escapes me. Maybe because my sister-in-law who has had arthritis for 20 years runs half marathons has something to do with it? Hey, I had seen Wimbledon, these kids are too short to slam me, bring it on. So, I begin to volley. Suddenly my kids and two nephews were on the opposite side. Ever-conscious of my feelings, my precious daughter said, "I'll be on your team, Mommy!"
"Great!" I exclaimed and continued one by one to aim in the general direction of my three miniature partners. The little buggers hustled but I gave them little with which to work.
Then, something magical happened: a volley actually began. Who knew if it was the sugar rush the Shipley Doughnuts provided or just dumb luck, but we actually wacked it over the chain-link net several times.
Back and forth in ecstatic rhythm, we looked on in awe. A beautiful lob came right to me and I got in position to return it.
I didn't cover the basics of "calling" the return when two people go for the same ball. Maggie Lee, anxious to get in on the game swung full boar and knocked me square in the left eye.
My daughter is my carbon copy in many regards. She has all of my good stuff and little of my many negative traits, except when it comes to sports.
I have been known to remove enormous chunks of earth when I golf and have actually broken an arm in the bowling alley by humming a ball full force when the sweeper swung down to reset the ball. What we lack in skill we make up for with sheer brute strength. We go hard, fast and inaccurately. I mean, we don't do things half way.
I dropped to the ground clutching my left eye. It throbbed and when my blood dripped to the ground it startled me. As vascular as the head region is, the small gash left me looking like an extra from Texas Chainsaw Massacre who spent too much time in the special effects trailer.
My kids, screaming and afraid, blurted out last words like, "I love you, Mommy," and wept in terror.
"You've got to calm down." I said and asked them collect the myriad of sports paraphanelia while I ambled toward my Mom's house. I applied pressure to keep the flow down and prayed I'd make it home before I passed out. I paused as we crossed the street to play crossing guard. Even disabled, no one was going to get pegged by a Hummer on my watch.
A man crossed on the other side and said, "Are you ok? Do I need to call 911? Can I help you?"
"Oh, no, just a tennis accident." You know when you say something and as it falls from your lips you know you sound rediculous? Maybe if I were limping or holding an elbow but who leaves the tennis court with a fountainous head wound? That would be me.
I was totally embarassed at this point and knew that the scene was Mother Hubbard meets Grey's Anatomy. I walked down the familiar street hoping no one would recognize me. Seeing as though I covered 78% of my face and had 30 children with me...who would ever recognize me?
With the home in sight I gave it a lunge and knew I was safe. Just the sight of my mommy made me cry. I guess some things never change.
My husband, ever the calm problem-solver, brought me Advil and a wash cloth. You definately want John in an emergency. It's irritating, frankly, to have someone who never panicks, screams or goes into a tirade. What's his deal?
I found a chair and gradually calmed down from the blunt head trauma. I assured my daughter that accidents happen and recalled several of my own including a mail box casualty the first day I had my drivers liscence which took me two attempts to ascertain.
Then, acting like the blood loss had made me more loopy than normal, I quoted my funny friend, Carey Dyer; 'Does everyone see yellow triangles?"
I awoke this morning with a black left eye...a great look for Christian Comedianne...but the swelling has receeded and I feel much better.
My left eyebrow looks more like a Shepherd's crook with the laceration hooking down toward my eye. It will heal before long and I will be fine.
It will be a while before I attempt to be athletic. I'll stick to vacuming and leave the tennis to soemone more qualified than I.
We cristened the new waterpark, Schlitterbahn, in Galveston and ate out at all of the hometown restaurants of my youth.
My brother, Ted and his wife, Kelly, joined us and brought the 4 kids. Attempting to be the cool aunt, (note: never a good idea,) I took my kids and two nephews up to the park along with half of the Walmart Sporting Goods section. We rode skateboards, lugged tennis raquets and Jack even brought his baseball gear. It looked like The Grapes of Wrath and we were only going to stay 45 minutes.
We get to the park and my scooter-riders rode around the paved sidewalk while Aunt Jinny forged a more direct route to the tennis courts.
Just an autobiographical note; I am no tennis player. My memories of tennis include watching my brothers and parents play while I looked on with my powder-blue Wilson raquet & cover (tre 70's.)
I did unfurl the raquet once and wound up in tears because my foolish father refused to hit the ball precisely to me. He didn't get this sport at all.
What possesed me to pick up the raquet escapes me. Maybe because my sister-in-law who has had arthritis for 20 years runs half marathons has something to do with it? Hey, I had seen Wimbledon, these kids are too short to slam me, bring it on. So, I begin to volley. Suddenly my kids and two nephews were on the opposite side. Ever-conscious of my feelings, my precious daughter said, "I'll be on your team, Mommy!"
"Great!" I exclaimed and continued one by one to aim in the general direction of my three miniature partners. The little buggers hustled but I gave them little with which to work.
Then, something magical happened: a volley actually began. Who knew if it was the sugar rush the Shipley Doughnuts provided or just dumb luck, but we actually wacked it over the chain-link net several times.
Back and forth in ecstatic rhythm, we looked on in awe. A beautiful lob came right to me and I got in position to return it.
I didn't cover the basics of "calling" the return when two people go for the same ball. Maggie Lee, anxious to get in on the game swung full boar and knocked me square in the left eye.
My daughter is my carbon copy in many regards. She has all of my good stuff and little of my many negative traits, except when it comes to sports.
I have been known to remove enormous chunks of earth when I golf and have actually broken an arm in the bowling alley by humming a ball full force when the sweeper swung down to reset the ball. What we lack in skill we make up for with sheer brute strength. We go hard, fast and inaccurately. I mean, we don't do things half way.
I dropped to the ground clutching my left eye. It throbbed and when my blood dripped to the ground it startled me. As vascular as the head region is, the small gash left me looking like an extra from Texas Chainsaw Massacre who spent too much time in the special effects trailer.
My kids, screaming and afraid, blurted out last words like, "I love you, Mommy," and wept in terror.
"You've got to calm down." I said and asked them collect the myriad of sports paraphanelia while I ambled toward my Mom's house. I applied pressure to keep the flow down and prayed I'd make it home before I passed out. I paused as we crossed the street to play crossing guard. Even disabled, no one was going to get pegged by a Hummer on my watch.
A man crossed on the other side and said, "Are you ok? Do I need to call 911? Can I help you?"
"Oh, no, just a tennis accident." You know when you say something and as it falls from your lips you know you sound rediculous? Maybe if I were limping or holding an elbow but who leaves the tennis court with a fountainous head wound? That would be me.
I was totally embarassed at this point and knew that the scene was Mother Hubbard meets Grey's Anatomy. I walked down the familiar street hoping no one would recognize me. Seeing as though I covered 78% of my face and had 30 children with me...who would ever recognize me?
With the home in sight I gave it a lunge and knew I was safe. Just the sight of my mommy made me cry. I guess some things never change.
My husband, ever the calm problem-solver, brought me Advil and a wash cloth. You definately want John in an emergency. It's irritating, frankly, to have someone who never panicks, screams or goes into a tirade. What's his deal?
I found a chair and gradually calmed down from the blunt head trauma. I assured my daughter that accidents happen and recalled several of my own including a mail box casualty the first day I had my drivers liscence which took me two attempts to ascertain.
Then, acting like the blood loss had made me more loopy than normal, I quoted my funny friend, Carey Dyer; 'Does everyone see yellow triangles?"
I awoke this morning with a black left eye...a great look for Christian Comedianne...but the swelling has receeded and I feel much better.
My left eyebrow looks more like a Shepherd's crook with the laceration hooking down toward my eye. It will heal before long and I will be fine.
It will be a while before I attempt to be athletic. I'll stick to vacuming and leave the tennis to soemone more qualified than I.
posted by Jinny Henson @ 5:08 PM
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